A Lonely Mind
by Annabell Archer
Summary: Silence. Silence is all he needs. He's been alone for a while, but that's okay. Why would he need anyone else?


There was silence in 221B Baker St. Everything completely silent and still as if it were all a painting on display. This included the man sitting in his armchair alone, thinking. He was so still and silent that his pale face could have been mistaken for a marble statue, but the fluff of black curls on his head was clearly hair, each fiber turning in its own independent path. But the man, and the flat around him was absolutely silent.

Until it wasn't.

"Not feeling talkative today, eh, Sherly?" a mocking voice called from behind.

The man shot to his feet and spun around, blue bathrobe swirling around his legs dramatically. He knew that voice.

"Looking for someone?" the voice called, again from behind and again the man spun around to find no one.

"Oooh, aren't you dramatic," it sang. He spun once more. He thought he must look ridiculous but he was unable to stop; the voice automatically chilled his heart.

"It's in your head," the man said to himself, voice cracked from disuse. "There's no one in the flat."

"That's the problem though, isn't it, Sherly?" The man forced himself to stay calm as the voice rang out again. He turned slowly to see a man seated in his recently vacated armchair.

The new arrival had slick black hair, a nice suit, and a combination of a cocky smirk and jet-black eyes that told you this wasn't someone to mess with. He was lounging in the armchair as if he owned it, or believed he had a right to it, his hands dangling off the armrest and his legs crossed leisurely.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" the new arrival said when the first didn't respond.

The latter pulled himself together and stood up straight. He glared at the lounging man a moment longer before speaking.

"You're not real," he said.

The man sitting laughed lightly, then said in his sing-song, mocking voice, "what was your first clue?"

"You died that day on the roof."

"So did you."

The man in the bathrobe opened and closed his mouth for a moment, unsure of how to answer.

"Go away." he said, eventually.

The other began chuckling. "I'm in your head, Sherly, you said it yourself. You're the one keeping me here."

"I don't want you here." he said stiffly.

The other stopped chuckling abruptly. He leaned forward. "Nobody wants a root canal, yet dentists are still in business. You may not want a hallucination but - what was it that cabbie said? - it doesn't mean you don't need one." at the last words he imitated the cabbie''s thick accent. "But we're getting off topic. I noticed you haven't sat down. Why not?"

The man rolled his eyes. "There's only one armchair."

"There used to be two, though."

"It-it was blocking my view to the kitchen."

"Oh, is that all?" The man's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I'm not lonely."

"Please. Honey, you haven't spoken to anyone in four days. That's a lot, even for you."

"I don't need anyone else."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"What do you mean?"

"You keep babbling to hide the truth."

"What truth?"

"You know what truth."

"I don't-"

"Stop playing, Sherly. You know what, or are you really too stupid to figure it out? You're often too slow though, aren't you? You've had person after person _die_ when you were supposed to solve the case and save them. Now you're so stupid and slow that you can't even figure out-"

"I MISS JOHN!" the man screamed, screwing his eyes shut and banging his hands on the tea table.

There was a long silence before the voice said, "you shouldn't bother trying to outsmart your own mind." But when the man opened his eyes, the armchair was empty.

He stood, breathing heavily for a few minutes before there was a tentative knock on the door. It was opened moments later to reveal a little old lady. "Sherlock?" she said.

The man, still breathing a little heavily, didn't look up. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson?"

"John called to apologize for not being able to come. Mary's having trouble, what with the baby on the way. He said he tried calling but your cell phone was off. You should really get out, Sherlock. They say solitude drives people crazy." When the man didn't respond she left, closing the door slowly behind her.

He sighed and sat back down in his armchair, rubbing his hands over his eyes.

"That's what you knew would happen," the voice whispered in his ear. "You take in a stray dog and it just runs off and finds a new owner. And you're left behind. Just like always."


End file.
